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I didn’t mind Anthony Mundine. Until Wednesday. He clearly lost to Daniel Geale, and left the ring without congratulating the winner. You just don’t do that.

At first I thought that sort of behaviour was ‘un-Australian’. But would it have been more acceptable if Anthony Mundine was from Canada, China or Chile? Of course not, and I don’t know why all those countries had to begin with the letter ‘c’.

However there is an excellent ‘c’ word for Anthony Mundine. It’s ‘competitor’, as well as the other one. We look up to sportspeople because they perform physical feats beyond most of us, and also because they exist in a sphere outside of the normal petty squabbles of the world.

In the world of sport, you get to go as hard as you can, and even if you still hate the person afterwards, you still acknowledge them as a fellow competitor. Through this act, sportspeople show us that it’s possible for people from completely different backgrounds, religions and societies to find common ground. To get along. They give us hope.

Even if Mundine was robbed of victory, that wasn’t Geale’s fault. Say what you want about the media, Australian society, the judges, whatever. Just don’t take out your problems on the person who did nothing wrong, except for beating you. To him, you say well done. Then go to the press conference, and if you’re Mundine, you endlessly spout things that might be sentences in some universe, but not this one.

Before Wednesday, I didn’t mind that Anthony Mundine used poor grammar to flood us with incoherent rants about indigenous issues. Although most of his verbal delivery mirrors a madman in his underwear on a busy street corner shouting at fire hydrant, the fact that he’s raising these issues is likely a good thing.

It’s as if Mundine is trying to be Muhammed Ali, but even mentioning those two names in the same sentence leaves me feeling dirty. Ali did pick on his opponents, but with such flair and intelligence it became less about his opponent and more about the theatre of the whole thing.

Mundine is an embarrassment, and I wonder if this is the result of an existence surrounded by people who just say ‘yes’. To every one of your ridiculous ideas, stupid comments and ill-thought out rants.

Watching Mundine walk around with that entourage is like watching a comedy skit. I’m waiting for Mundine to shed his skin and surprise! It’s Rove McManus. Who’s probably the only comedian small enough to fit in there.

I’ve noticed the same phenomenon with me and some pretty girls. They say something ridiculous, and in my mind I’m thinking, ‘This girl is a fool’. But my head is nodding, all because I want the pretty person to like me. Then I get them home and surprise! It’s Rove McManus. Then I wake up. Disappointed. Again.

Anyway, Anthony Mundine. He’ll now disappear into his warm little cocoon of insanity, surrounded by his yes army, until he comes up with another scheme so stupid it grabs him a few headlines. Can’t wait.

I wonder if there’s reasoning to his stupidity. Perhaps all the idiots actually disappear to the same place? Then maybe Mundine is a secret genius, because wherever he’s gone, he’s now neck deep in beautiful morons.

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